Under A Blood Moon
by divine one
Summary: Destiny begins for The Chosen One. Buffy, Spike.
1. Prologue

Title -- Under A Blood Moon (Prologue/?)

authour -- Devylish

disclaimer -- JW, Mutant Enemy, et al. own BTVS. I don't even own the computer I'm using. Oh, and the Blood Moon ceremony is a variation of the *The Full Blood Moon Esbat Ritual* from The Janic Tradition site (www.janictradition.org) 

feedback -- does anyone ever actually say "no" to this? You can send comments to devylish@hotmail.com 

rating -- PG now, R? later

AN -- The plot of this tale is based on the guidelines suggested by the Smashed Challenge issued on the Obsidian Moonlight site. This particular scene is a prologue to the challenge topic, takes place sometime between THE BODY and SMASHED, and involves Joyce and a Mary Sue. Also, for the story's sake, the Blood Moon occurs in November (as did SMASHED) versus happening in October. (Hey! Time doesn't work in fics the way it does in the rest of the world!) (See: http://www.obsidianmoonlight.com/writing/challenges.html for the detailed challenge rules). FYI: The Prologue is largely focused on the Mary Sue, but it struck me as an unavoidable evil.

****

Under A Blood Moon

Oct., 25 2001

Tahree, a witch of three hundred years standing, looked at the spirit before her. Nodding her head in answer to the question the spirit had asked her, she spoke: "Yes, I will do my best to help her."

A smile of joy flitted over the feminine spirit's face, she whispered her thanks and then melted back into the dark crystal sphere that sat on Tahree's floor.

Gathering her wizened bones, Tahree rose from her spot on the ground and creaked her way over to a nearby bookshelf. Muttering to herself about 250 years of aching bones, she ran her fingers over the cracked bindings of several books before finally coming to a stop over the one she wanted.

As she slid the heavy tome from its slot, she ruminated about the ghost and the information she had received from her. The spirit - called Joyce - had been appearing in Tahree's sphere every day for the past three weeks; growing more vivid and solid with every passing day. A week ago, Joyce had finally become potent enough to begin speaking with Tahree. And once she finally began to speak, the spirit had started to tell the witch a story. The story of a champion.

She spoke of a champion who had strength, power, and goodness. And her eyes had bled tears of sadness when she told the witch of The Champion's probable fate.... The Champion would die young, without a second half, without children, without the hope of the elements that made life -- life.

Joyce knew and acknowledged that it was a champion's role to *be without*, but the spirit was adamant that this champion was different. 

Tahree had listened intently to Joyce's description of the champion; listened until her heart wept. A protector of the innocent, without the hope of hope. One who fought bravely, selflessly, and yet, one who dared to have comrades, and laughter, and her quiet dreams. 

Joyce's description and tale of her champion, had made Tahree wonder if the champion -- this champion -- could be The One. The one the books whispered of.

Intrigued, Tahree had studied her cards, and gazed into her crystal sphere, and watched The Champion. It hadn't taken her long to realize that Joyce was right, there was indeed something special about this young champion. And if, as Tahree had grown to believe, she was The One, there was only one more piece needed for destiny to begin. 

So she had continued to watch The Champion and her friends -- an odd assortment of souls -- until one day she found what she was searching for -- a Knight. A match for the champion. A chance at happiness. And perhaps... the beginning of something more.

Tahree sighed, and opening the front cover of the book, held her hands over it, and intoned the words: AVER OUVIRUR REPAAS ERI, SLARIRE -- YOEP PARC. As page after page of the book fluttered open, Tahree weighed the possibilities and limitations of her plan.

The way would not be easy. She smiled ruefully, the way for this Champion and Knight would never be easy. Her chief problem laid in the fact that the Knight and Champion were natural born enemies. Yes, she chuckled, that was a definite problem. It was a problem that would require strong magic and very specific timing -- but it was not an insurmountable problem.

As the pages of the book slowed their frantic turning, settling on a wrinkled, ancient divination, Tahree let another smile crease her face. Her spell would not, perhaps, be as difficult as it could have been. Despite a somewhat natural aversion to one another, this Champion and Knight seemed to be almost fond of one another. Feelings, acknowledged and unacknowledged, existed between them; and it would be these feelings that would be the genesis of her enchantment. The beginning of it all. 

Running her fingers over the text before her, Tahree nodded her head in concentration. She had only to collect a few items and then she would be able to put the pieces in motion. 

Individually, The Knight and The Champion were each of them impressive: intelligent, powerful, and passionate. But together... the two of them... the possibilities were boundless. 

November 20, 2001, Night of the Blood Moon

'There, it is almost time." Tahree closed her eyes tiredly. Tonight, she was feeling every bit of her three hundred years, but she realized that after this evenings' work, her part in this drama would probably be complete. So, girding her energy about her, she opened her eyes and reached for the items on the short altar before her. Taking three strands of honey blonde hair, the witch began to twist them around three, shorter, bleached blonde strands of hair. She held together the ends of this small mass of silk, and picked up three six-inch white, red, and black cotton threads. Lashing the cotton threads together, she then tied the ends of the threads with the ends of the hair. 

As she secured, tied and bound the hair and cotton together Tahree softly spoke:

Make all

that is -- nothing.

Undo the dam

that holds.

Impale the empty --

Empty with empty.

Begin the new.

Give this Champion,

this Knight.

Give to this Knight,

this purpose.

Give to them both,

this naissance.

Make what is void -- complete.

Dropping the united strands into a crucible, Tahree slowly waved her hand over the bowl three times.

Cre ato

Sed, Sil, Lef

Nurtu-ee

She struck a match and lit the dark red candle that sat in the middle of the altar.

As the yellow light illuminated the room Tahree reached into the soft sack that sat on the floor beside her and pulled an earth crystal -- a bloodstone -- out. The green and red colours of the stone danced in the candlelight, dueling -- or were they making love? -- with one another. 

Cradling the stone in her lap, Tahree began to chant to the rhythm of music that only she heard. Calling upon The Blood Moon's power she crooned:

O Mother Moon, you represent life's energy.

I celebrate the life force that streams through our veins.

I celebrate the life force that creates children and all beings as we move through life.

Wordless keening left her lips, keeping in tempo with her supplication to The Blood Moon. Seconds crept by and grew into minutes; then suddenly, she could feel a change in the air around her. A breeze pushed against the candle causing it to waver.

Placing the bloodstone in both of her hands, she lifted it above the candle's flame.

May this bloodstone be charged with your energy,

the energy of the spirit,

the energy of The Champion and The Knight.

May this stone be a font and a symbol of those energies.

The energies of love, creation, and growth.

She rested the stone on the bottom edge of the altar and reached into the bowl that contained the circle of hair and cotton.

Continuing her mantra, she wrapped the twine of hair around the stone three times before picking it up again in both hands. She then proceeded to return the bound stone to its place above the candle:

Mother Moon, you change everything you touch,

and everything you touch changes.

As this candle burns, consumes and breathes,

may the wheels of life turn and be touched by your power.

May my wish be granted...

This or something better, for the highest good of all concerned.

As she watched the candle's heat tickle, lick, and eventually devour the twined hair, she slowly turned the stone over, allowing the remainder of its bindings to drop into the flame. Only when the flame had removed all evidence of the binding did she lower her arms.

Cupping the warm stone in her hands she reverently placed it into the silken sack at her side. As she gently tightened the drawstrings of the purse she again felt the breezy energy of The Blood Moon flow past her. Never loosening her hold on the bloodstone pouch, Tahree leaned over the altar, closed her eyes, and blew out the candle.

TBC


	2. Not A Dream

title -- Not A Dream [Pt.1 of Under A Blood Moon] (1/?)

author -- Devylish

disclaimer -- JW, Mutant Enemy, et al. own BTVS. I don't even own the computer I'm using. 

feedback -- does anyone ever actually say "no" to this? You can send comments to devylish@hotmail.com 

rating -- PG now, R? later

a/n -- The plot of this tale is based on the guidelines suggested by the Smashed Challenge issued on the Obsidian Moonlight site. This particular scene takes place after the prologue (see: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=634524 to view the prologue). It occurs 2-3 nights after SMASHED, although there really isn't any identifiable spoiler for SMASHED. (See: http://www.obsidianmoonlight.com/writing/challenges.html for the detailed challenge rules). 

summary -- Buffy has a dream, or a trance, or a prophecy, or... well, let's just say that her sleep is not particularly restful.

Not A Dream (Part 1 of Under A Blood Moon)

"No, you are not dreaming."

Buffy spun around and found two women standing in front of her. One of them, Buffy recognized as The First slayer -- dark, agile, feral. Tonight, she stood hand in hand with the second woman, a toned, toffee skinned female who, Buffy guessed, was also a slayer. Peace and power emanated from the two slayers in an almost tangible essence. It seemed to surround Buffy, encircling her in a thick, red mist. 

"Yes, I was a slayer. I was known as Vija," the slender woman inclined her head courteously in Buffy's direction. "And as I was saying -- you are not dreaming -- not entirely. This is more of a trance, a diffusion and transmission of your soul. It has, for the time being, left your body and come to us; answering our call."

Buffy noted that, though she could hear Vija speaking, the woman's lips never moved. It was as if the slayer's thoughts were simply being placed in Buffy's mind. And then she realized, with a start, that Vija was apparently able to hear her thoughts as well.

Vija smiled at Buffy and nodded her head slightly. "Here, in the red, in this place between dreams and reality, between forever and death, the barriers are gone. We can share one another's feelings; one another's reflections. They are, in fact, all that we really have here -- as our bodies are not actually present." Elaborating slightly, she added: "What I see, and what you see before you, are simply likenesses of who we are, and who we were. They --" Vija suddenly paused. She and The First Slayer looked at one another, and then glanced over their shoulders to something behind them. Something that Buffy couldn't see, but vaguely sensed. Something familiar: warm, soft, embracing.

"I am sorry, but, we haven't much time; I must tell you why we called your soul. We called to you because we wanted to help you, and to warn you."

"Help me? Warn me? About what?"

"About the journey you are going to undertake."

"I'm going someplace?"

Vija smiled. "Your journey will be. . . a becoming. . ." The joined slayers looked behind themselves a second time, and Buffy once again felt the soothing tug of tranquility. The slayers turned back toward her and simultaneously stepped closer. "You must embrace what has begun."

"What's begun? And just what sort of embracing are we talking about?"

"Buffy, it is important that you accept all that you are. You are light and you are dark; fire and ice... You are love, and you are hate. You are: The Slayer."

"Yeah, yeah." Buffy's mind muttered "the chosen one. Been there, done that for like -- six years now."

The slayers locked eyes with her, and Vija slowly, carefully avowed: "You are *The. Chosen. One.*"

Buffy felt the emphasis that Vija and The First Slayer were placing upon her being *The Chosen One*, and despite the ever present warmth of the red cloud that surrounded them, Buffy felt a surreptitious chill snake down her back. 

"It has begun. It is imperative that you remember that a slayer is made not only of hate and power, but of love and kindness. You must welcome the night as if it were the day, because you are now, more than ever, the protector of both." The united slayers did not look over their shoulders again, but Buffy was certain that they too, once more felt a presence in the red mist. A veil of serenity that pulled at them, this time with an intensity that was almost painful. 

Quickly, almost desperately the slayer spirits reached for Buffy, joining their free hands with hers. A fire started in her fingers, prickling, and stabbing, and eating away at her. It rippled through Buffy in wave after wave, circling through her limbs and torso looking for a conduit out of the live vessel it had been forced into. Her very nerve ends fought to contain the surge of energy that threatened to engulf her, until finally she somehow managed to trap the heat in her center. The red haze that surrounded the three slayers began to slowly dissipate, leaving small cool patches of darkness before Buffy's eyes. 

As the red began to fade away, so did The First Slayer and Vija. 

Anxiously Vija delivered her warning to Buffy. "Remember that all roads lead in two directions. It is up to you to decide in which direction your journey will take you."

As their grasp on Buffy's hands loosened, the coolness around Buffy intensified. Vija vehemently whispered, "Hold close the one you love. He must be the first!" Vija's form seemed to melt before Buffy's eyes, but not before Vija reiterated: "He must be the first. . . or you will lose the issue to perpetual night. . . and then, not even The Chosen One will be able to change the course. He must be the first. . ."

And then they were gone . . .

The last traces of the wraith-like slayers, the red mist, and the peaceful warmth, withered into nothing, and Buffy found herself in a familiar state. Her body and soul were cold and empty.

* * *

Buffy woke with a shudder. Breath seeped from her lips in almost visible little gray-white clouds. . . Focusing her eyes in her darkened bedroom Buffy shivered in the chilly night air. Skating out of her bed she dashed to the window and slammed it shut; then she dove back into bed and snuggled herself into the blankets, attempting to ignore her stomach's uncharacteristic growl of midnight hunger.

Yawning, and turning over onto her side, Buffy tiredly groaned through chattering teeth, "Why do all of the ghosts that visit me have to talk in riddles?"

tbc


	3. Trojan Horses

Title -- Trojan Horse (Pt2 of Under A Blood Moon) (2/?) 

Author -- Devylish

Disclaimer -- JW, ME, et al. own BTVS. I also do not own: Shakespeare's Hamlet, Joy Fielding's Bridget Jones' Diary, Wheaties, or Mountain Dew... I don't even own the computer I'm using.

Distribution -- just ask. Story can also be found on the Fanfiction site at: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=634524

Feedback -- always welcome. Please send to devylish@hotmail.com

Rating -- PG-13 for a little language

A/N -- The plot of this tale is based on the guidelines suggested by the Smashed Challenge issued on the Obsidian Moonlight site (for detailed challenge rules se: http://www.obsidianmoonlight.com/writing/challenges.html). This particular scene takes place five days after SMASHED. Buffy gets a present.

Trojan Horse (Pt2 of Under A Blood Moon) (2/?) 

I open the back door and look outside. No one there... which is strange, because I could have sworn I had sensed -- .

Looking down I see, on the flagstone stoop, a wicker basket. Peering around the bright yard one more time, I shrug my shoulders and bend down to pick up the decidedly un-ominous package.

"If it's a baby," I mutter to myself, "I'm going to go to the neighbors, ring their doorbell, drop the basket, and run like hell."

Climbing up onto a stool at the kitchen island, I stare at the basket intently: "To open it, or not to open it, that is the question..." I knew who the package was from -- he was the one I had sensed at the door -- but even if I hadn't felt his presence, there was a faint scent of tobacco lacing the weaving of the basket. His scent. A fragrance I had been unable to forget for the past five days... ever since I'd broken a house while 'shagging' him like a 'wanton sex goddess'. So, yes, I was positive, whatever was inside the basket, it came from Spike.

The knowledge made me squirm. I'd managed to successfully avoid him for nearly a week. Avoid even the possibility of confronting the little doubt that niggled at the back of my brain. The doubt that what had happened that night wasn't a one time deal. It was a doubt that I couldn't afford to address.

"It had to be a one time deal, an aberration. A moment of temporary insanity. Or... maybe Spike had been practicing his thrall skills..."

I shake my head, "It doesn't matter, I'm over whatever madness enveloped me, and made me jump the bones of, yet another, dead boy. Yep, all done..." I pause and groan, "Real brave Buffy. If you're so 'over the madness', why are you so desperately avoiding said dead boy? And why the hell are you afraid to open a simple, wicker basket just because you know it's from him?"

Reaching tentatively for the basket lid, I touch the weaving and continue to give myself a little motivational talk. "Spike bad. Buffy good. Simplicity defined. Say it again. Spike bad. Buffy good... Nothing Spike could possibly place in a picnic basket will ever change those facts. It's black and white."

Black and white with a little bit of grey thrown in. I drop my hand from the container. "Honestly speaking -- and I'll say it again, honesty is an overrated commodity -- I was there when the whole 'house coming down' activities occurred, and I wasn't exactly an uninvolved participant." I feel a flush of heat slip over me, "No, I was most definitely part of that demolition crew. And how can I just explain that away?" Remembering and grasping desperately at Spike's words, 'You came back wrong', I rephrase my little mantra. "Okay, Spike bad. Buffy wrong. Simplicity redefined."

Simple. Except for... well, "Damn The Demon! Why does he have to keep his promises? Why can't he break at least one of them? Even after... even after the person he makes the promise to DIES... Even when 'it breaks him into tiny little pieces' to keep the promise..."

Those had been Dawn's words when she had filled me in on the summer happenings of the gang... and Spike. Dawn had explained how Spike had ostensibly taken up residence with Willow, Tara, and Dawn in the Summers' home. How he'd walked through the back door every day -- every day with the knowledge that she, Buffy, wasn't there. Each and every time he'd entered the house, the knowledge was written all over his face. Dawn had waxed poetic, and added, "I could see something in him break, a little more, into slightly smaller pieces every visit -- but still he came."

"Damn him. I know why he continued to come, continued to help the gang, continued to care for Dawn. He came because he'd made a promise; a promise to a dead slayer. To me. Less and less, black and white; more and more, grey."

Pushing away from the counter, I pull open the fridge door and scan its contents. "9am in the morning and what do I want? Ahh Ha! Mountain Dew, the true breakfast of champions." Popping the tab, I turn round to face the small Trojan Horse sitting on my counter. "Despite what I'm trying to tell myself, I know that if I open that container, I'll find it even more difficult to keep Spike at bay." I refuse to look more closely at whether it would be Spike who would need to be held at bay, or if... it would be me. Instead I focus on fighting the temptation represented by a wicker basket. "I need to think of it as a war. He's the enemy and he wants to get at me any way he can. I have no obligation to open the basket, because I know that his primary goal is to storm the gates, to worm his way back into my home, back into my mind." 

I snort quietly, "Not that he's ever really left my mind. His presence in my psyche, especially since that night has been overwhelming. It's like this Pay-Per View boxing match that is constantly running through my mind:

*Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Summers; Auditorium. In this corner of the Buffy Ring, we have The Century and a Half Old, Evil, Bloodsucking Demon -- SPIIIKE! And his opponent, in the opposite corner: The Brilliantly Sexy, Loyal, Lover Boy -- SPIIIKE! It's a no holds barred, thrust beneath the belt, Death/Love Match folks! Winner takes all!*"

"The evil demon part... I'm used to that, I can deal with that -- that's my job. It's the 'brilliant, loyal' side that I'm constantly tripping over. Well, actually, it's just the 'loyalty' part that's freaking me out. Brilliance and sexiness are not exclusive to souled humanity. But loyalty... that's something else. It symbolizes attachment, and a subtlety of emotion..." I take my thoughts a little further, "And aren't the traces of emotions, the non-bloodlusty type, a sign of a heart and soul? Aren't the heart and soul the very housing of those subtle little emotions?" 

I nod in silent agreement with myself and resume my perch before the basket. "Without the soul cage, emotions visit the body, but, how can they stay? They have nothing to cling to... nothing to hide themselves inside of...." Confused sigh. "Which brings me right back around to point #1. Why does Spike - read souless fiend -- claim to love me? And why did he continue to care for Dawn and the gang when I was gone? Ugggh! It's 'so' not black and white. I long for black and white." 

A moment more passes as I try to use my non-existent x-ray vision to identify the contents of the basket. I breathe in, and my nostrils are flooded with the grainy, pungent odor of old wicker and a certain undead vampire. "Why can't I get the memory of him out of my mind?"

I realize that my head is starting to ache, and that my stomach is doing weird little twisties. Glancing at the caffeinated soda clutched in my hand, I grimace. "You seemed like such a good idea when I picked you up, but uhh..." I dump the can's contents into the sink and pat my tummy placatingly. "What do you want? You wake me up from a perfectly good nightmare last night, and now you have the nerve to complain when I try and get myself a caffeinated jolt to start my day off with? Don't you know, a slayer with no caffeine is only half a slayer?" Grinning goofily at my own silliness, I face my wicker clad dilemma one more time.

"Okay Buffy, decision time." I stare at the basket. 

Resolution made, I pick up the morning newspaper and head toward the front door for my jacket and scarf. 

"I think I'll go to the Magic Box and leave the decision of what to do about Spike's little gift for later! Later is always good.

TBC


	4. Little Problems

author- devylish

title- Little Problems Pt3 of Under A Blood Moon

rating- PG-13

category- AU

disclaimer- JW et al. own the BTVS crew. Burger King (I think) owns the 'have it your way' slogan.

feedback/distribution- let me know at devylish@hotmail.com

spoilers- ref. to SMASHED.

summary- Recap: Tahree has cast some sort of spell over The Champion and her Knight. After bringing down the house in Smashed, Buffy has studiously been avoiding Spike for the past 5 or so days, but she can't seem to get him out of her mind, especially when he drops off a little wicker basket at her back door. Buffy does what she does best, and tries to avoid thinking about him, this time by going to The Magic Box. 

LITTLE PROBLEMS

"You look horrible!" 

Anya's greeting made Buffy smile despite herself. "Thanks Anya." Plopping herself down at one the chairs located in the back corner of the magic shop, Buffy admitted, "I'm so tired I could fall asleep right here, right now."

"It's 930am."

"Yeah, I, uhh, I didn't sleep well last night." 'Or any night this past week,' she added silently. Damn dreams. Damn Spike. Damn Spike dreams!

"Well, please don't fall asleep here. I want the customers to think the shop is interesting and exciting, not boring and tired. Your sleeping at the table might give them the wrong impression."

Buffy chuckled and turned her attention to attempting to unrumple the newspaper she'd brought with her. 

"What's that?"

Buffy groaned slightly and stated, "The classifieds. 'Buffy Summers: these days she doesn't just hunt vampires, she hunts jobs too!'" She slumped lower in her chair.

"Job hunting? Oh good! Now you'll be able to make money like I do!"

"That's the goal, but I'm finding that the only thing I seem to be qualified for is saving the world -- and unfortunately, the pay for that is not as high as you'd think." 

The bell over the shop door tinged and Anya's face brightened. "Oh excuse me, I have to go help that man spend all of his money now."

Buffy watched the ex-demon's retreating figure with amusement before forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. 'Research. -- Looking for a job. -- A Buffy job. -- A job that Buffy can do...' Her eyes slipped down and across the rows and rows of available jobs --. 

* * *

Thirty minutes later -- and a constant trickle of customers to keep Anya busy -- and Buffy: "HaaaaUmmmm," yawned. 'Geez. I should really put this on my resume. Multi-tasking. I can yawn, pretend to read a paper, and obsess about the greatest, most perverted night of sex in my life -- all at the same time. See I do have talents.' 

'Talents.' 

Since it wasn't too far from it anyway, her mind feverishly dropped into the gutter. 'Spike seemed to appreciate my talents, a lot.' She smiled and let her mind drop deeper into the gutter, allowing herself to think about the sculpted vampire who'd been haunting her day and night for a full week now. She recalled how surprisingly soft his blonde hair had been. Then she flushed with the realization that she now knew exactly what colour his hair would be if he ever stopped bleaching it. 

Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the paper before her, but within seconds, she drifted back to contemplation of the angles of his face. It was a face that was not perfect by any means... but it was 'perfect' for him; for contained within the angles and planes of that face were those damned blue eyes... and that mischievous little boy smile. Imperfection perfected. 

Buffy briefly gave up the pretense of reading the paper in favour of full fledged gutter wallowing. His skin. That had also surprised her. It was so smooth and, of course, cool. She shivered. 'Now that was perfection. Everything from his neck, to his shoulders, to his --.' Moaning aloud Buffy tried to give herself a mental cold shower. 'Kittens. He eats kittens... He likes to eat kit...' "Okay that's not helping the situation."

Crossing her legs Buffy glanced at Anya to see if her discomfort and distraction had caught the blonde's attention, but no, the petite shopkeeper was at the cash register, busily grinning at a female customer and her money. A quiet relief crept over Buffy and she lifted a hand to her eyes, rubbing them as she attempted to gather herself...

She resolved to try and be logical about this. Pen in hand she began to write down the things she needed to address in her life. Things she needed to deal with way before she gave thought to any fling, or one-night stand she might have had with Spike. In the margin of the classifieds, she scribbled:

1) Broke --

'Ignoring the bills that are piling up to the ceiling is NOT fixing the problem. You've no job, and you've got two -- no make that three -- mouths to feed. This is reason enough for you not to waste your little grey cells on Spike-filled thoughts -- let alone wasting time on Spike-filled nights.'

2) Been dead - not dealing with the being back amongst the friends thing --

She needed (wanted) to stop zoning out emotionally. Re-attach herself to the living... versus the unliving. She knew she had been so distant with her friends that she might have already lost them, but... She paused in her writings. While she knew they had only done what they felt was right, there were still these huge barriers between her and them. And it looked like it was going to be up to her to try to make them all stop feeling guilty about something they couldn't change. 'Yeah. How the hell do I make my friends stop feeling guilty about ripping their best friend out of heaven?' 

3) Not feeling -- 

Even if she tried to tell them what it was like/what it is like for her, she knew they'd never understand. Spike, on the other hand, did seem to understand, or maybe it was just that he listened to her. Listened in such a way that she wasn't concerned about being judged for how she was feeling -- or not feeling. And then there was the fact that he did make her feel... something. Anything.

4) And then there's Dawn --

'She seems to almost hate me these days. All we do is fight. We fight more than Spike and I fight. Fought. And then she runs up to her room and I go running out of the house to go and slay someone/thing. She's just so hard to handle. Abnormally hard to handle. No way all teenagers could be this hard to handle. I know I was never this difficult - well except for the whole setting fire to a gym... and blowing up the high school.' Hmmmm. 'Maybe Dawn isn't as difficult as I think she is.' A rueful smile played at Buffy's lips as she tapped the top of the pen against the edge of the newspaper. She admitted to herself that she was utterly confused about how to reach Dawn. She wasn't their mom. She didn't have that maternal skill. Slayers weren't built that way. Ask her to gut a T'la demon and Buffy was all over it. Ask her to have a heart to heart with her fifteen year old sister, and Buffy was clueless. 'And honestly -- even if I did know what tricks/hoops I needed to jump through to get to her... I don't know if I'd have enough energy to do so. I don't even have the energy to 'reach' myself, much less a hormone ridden teen.'

All these problems. All of them demanding so much of her energy. She certainly didn't need to add lust -- for a vampire no less -- to the mix. 

Glancing at her hastily scribbled notes, Buffy clucked with dissatisfaction. All of the little problems she'd written down in little 2-3 word phrases had small scribbles next to them. Scribbles that looked suspiciously like tiny railroad spikes. The demon was everywhere now. With all of her friends, with her family, within her dreams. He was just everywhere. 

'Yep. Every railroad track leads right back to the Spike. Damn.'

Dropping her traitorous pen, Buffy ran her hands through her hair, pushing it up and away from her face. Closing her eyes she felt her stomach rumble. Hunger. Food. Food would be good. Something... something beefy... 'Hmmmm, I wonder if the Doublemeat Palace is open this early.'

* * *

Half an hour later found Buffy climbing the steps of the Summers' home, Doublemeat Burger, fries, and shake in one hand, and an application in the other. 

She was starving. Starving and pissed off. It had taken her twice as long as necessary to get home because of the difficulties she'd had getting her Doublemeat Medley made to her specifications.

'You'd have thought I was asking them to give me their first born! Make a simple request, and end up having to talk to the manger to get it done!'

** "Ma'am, what seems to be the problem here?"

"The problem? The problem," Buffy huffed hungrily, "is that your staff -- uh, Lorraine here, doesn't want to make me a rare Doublemeat Medley with the works on it! I thought you guys were suppose to 'make my burger, my way?'" 

"That's our competition's motto ma'am."

Buffy had glared at him. Her eyes training all of her hungry anger at him.

Stumbling a step or two backwards, the manager had suddenly acquiesced to her demands. Half turning to Lorraine, he ordered her to "ring up the young lady's order. Immediately." He then proceeded to back further in the kitchen, keeping his eyes directed at Buffy as he added: "I'll just go make certain that the cook gets your order done right."**

'Maybe I should stop slaying baddies, and just start glaring them to death...' Buffy grinned to herself as she settled down on the living room couch and ripped open her bag of yummies. Unwrapping the paper that enclosed her Doublemeat Medley burger, she picked up the sandwich. She watched the greasy, still red juices of the burger settle at the bottom of the paper wrapping. Her stomach cramped with hunger. "Okay, okay!" She mumbled and opened her mouth with watering anticipation. 

-- She could have cried with frustration when she was stopped in her pursuit of mastication bliss by the sound of the front door opening.

"Buffy! What are you doing here?"

Buffy groaned and turned toward her 'estranged' sister.

"That's my line." She looked at Dawn's guilty face and steeled herself for an inevitable argument. Reluctantly putting her meal back down into its puddle of juices, she faced Dawn head on. "Why aren't you in school?"

"I, umm, I... I decided to come home for lunch."

"At 11am? Without permission? Dawn!"

"I'm not a child Buffy," Dawn began defensively.

"You're 15 years old!"

"Jesus Buffy! I took care of myself all summer long while... while you were gone." Dawn blinked rapidly and then hung her head in the brief silence that followed. Then she screwed her courage back up. "I don't need your permission to eat lunch. I don't need anything from you! I... I'm not your daughter. I'm not even really your sister!" Dawn turned and began to flee (a trick she learned from Buffy herself) up the stairs.

Buffy could feel the anger boiling up in her. It was the same argument every time, and she just couldn't take it anymore. The constant fights, the baleful eyes, the deafening silence... Enough! Her voice exploded from her small frame: "Dawn Elise Summers!"

Dawn paused in her race up the stairs and turned to face her sister.

"I can not, will not, take this anymore! There are rules that you have to follow; rules that I have and will continue to set up! If you want to be treated like an adult, then you better start acting like and adult! I don't --." Buffy stopped in mid-cliche rant when she saw Dawn visibly pale. 

"Dawn...Dawn!?" Buffy flew off her perch on the couch and reached Dawn just before she fainted and fell down the steps.

TBC


	5. Bigger Problems

author- devylish

title- Bigger Problems Pt4 of Under A Blood Moon

rating- PG-13

category- AU

disclaimer- JW et al. own 'em.

feedback/distribution- let me know at devylish@hotmail.com

spoilers- ref. to SMASHED, (and kinda deadthings).

summary- Recap: Tahree has cast some sort of spell over The Champion and her Knight. After bringing down the house in Smashed, Buffy has studiously been avoiding Spike for the past 5 or so days, but she can't seem to get him out of her mind. After attempting to get her mind off of the demon at The Magic Box, Buffy goes home -- after stopping off for a meal she's been craving. Once back home, she and Dawn get into another fight and Buffy does something she's never knowingly done before.

BIGGER PROBLEMS

"Dawnie? Dawn." Buffy had hefted her sister over to the sofa and propped her against the pillows. Gently brushing a few strands of hair away from her sister's face she touched Dawn's forehead. 'She feels pretty warm... Maybe she has a fever.' "Dawn?" Buffy released a small sigh when she heard Dawn's quiet moan of returning consciousness. Her relief turned to consternation when, after slowly blinking open her eyes, Dawn focused on her sister and screeched.

"Aaaayack!"

Scrambling back into the recesses of the couch, Dawn pulled her knees up against her chest and stared at Buffy, wild-eyed.

"Dawn? What's wrong?" Checking behind herself to see if maybe there was some 'big bad' creeping up behind her, Buffy saw nothing unusual. She twisted back around to her sister and reached out to touch her knee. "Dawn --."

The teenager squeaked, "Buffy?!" And although it seemed impossible, she pushed even further back into the corner of the couch.

"Yes Dawn, its me." She was starting to get worried. Dawn was still looking at her as if she'd grown scales and a pink feather tail. Quickly but surreptitiously looking down at her arms Buffy made note that they were still scale-less. 'Hellmouth -- you can never be too careful,' she reasoned to herself. 

"Dawn, what's up? You're starting to freak me out."

"I'm freaking you out?!" the teanager squealed. "Buffy... before... when you were yelling at me..."

Buffy frowned.

"You're eyes... they..." Dawn paused, searching for an appropriately descriptive word.

"They what?" Buffy prompted, as she began to relax. No scales. No feathers... Really, how bad could it be? "They blinked? They dilated? They --."

"They glowed!"

Dawn was screeching again. An almost hunger debilitating sound. Buffy reflected quietly as she viewed her cooling burger with one eye. "Oh is that all? You probably saw the sunlight reflecting off of them, or --."

"Is that all! IS THAT ALL?!"

There goes that shriek again.

"Buffy, your eyes were glowing! Demony glowing! Satan's wife, blood red, oogedy boogedy glowing. Scary. Creepy. And, and... GLOWING!"

Buffy denied; she was the queen of denial. "Not possible Dawnie. I'm not the glowy type of girl. I'm the hazel-eyed kind of girl. See," she leaned forward and peered at Dawn, "normal old regular eyes. Every day. All the time." She paused as Dawn continued to vehemently shake her head in disagreement.

"Really Dawn. It was probably just the sunlight causing a reflection off of my eyes."

Dawn derailed Buffy's train of denial with a little common sense.

"You're back was to the window Buffy. No reflection. And I know what I saw. Red eyes that no amount of Visine would ever be able to get rid of! You need to go to the doctor. Or get Will -- Tara, or maybe Spike here. But something is definitely wrong with you."

'Something's wrong with me. Something's wrong with me.' Spike's words came flowing back to her again. ** "You came back wrong." ** His words twisted with her sister's and abruptly, Buffy was scared. What if a second demon or spirit had been released when she was brought back. What if SHE was possessed by that demon?

"--the look on your face Buffy. You were so angry at me and your eyes were all red..."

Buffy fell backwards onto her butt with a thud. 'Angry. Eyes. Doublemeat Palace. Oh God!'

"Buffy?"

'That was why the manager had backed away so quickly and caved in to my demand for a rare beef patty.' And now that she thought about it, why had she wanted a rare burger in the first place. She never ate things rare. She observed the sandwich suspiciously; as if the answer to all her questions were contained between its' sesame buns.

"Buffy?"

'Maybe whatever possessed me, whatever is inside me craves rare --.'

"Buffy?!"

"Hmmmm?" She finally registered Dawn's voice.

"Maybe... maybe you're just sick. Some sort of Slayer flu. Maybe... maybe we should just get you some chicken noodle soup and you should put your pjs on... You know... take your temperature and all..." Dawn's voice had taken on her 'I'm an adult' tone and she smiled as Buffy nodded in seemingly dutiful agreement. 

Privately, Buffy questioned whether a slayer possessed by either the flu, or a demon would be made better by chicken noodle soup, but, what the heck.

"You go upstairs and put your jammies on and I'll bring up the soup when it's done." 

Buffy stole another glance at her burger as Dawn uncurled herself from the confines of the couch, but did as told. Beginning a slow ascent of the staircase, Buffy literally heard her brain click 'on' again and she turned back to her sister. "Dawn, before you do the soup thing, can you, go to The Magic Box and ask Anya for the book that Willow got the spell from. You know, the one she used to bring me back. Oh, and also, if you can grab one or two other books... ones that discuss ummm, illnesses, and health problems of slayers, and other... other... people type beings? And can you be sneaky about it?" No need to involve the rest of the gang just yet.

"Sure thing Buffy, sneaky is my middle name!" Dawn was silent for a second before asking, "You think something in the spell they used is making you 'Glow Girl'? 

"Maybe. It's probably the flu, like you said, but, well, I'd like to rule the spell out if possible. Think you can manage to get the books?" 

"No problem. But, uh, will you be okay here, alone?" Gaining an affirmative nod from her sister Dawn added, "Okay then. I'll go right now, you go get changed, and I'll be back in less than an hour."

Buffy viewed her sister. For the first time in weeks, months even, Dawn looked happy. Not happy that Buffy wasn't... quite right, but happy to be doing something, anything. To be needed. Buffy recognized that feeling. She remembered a time when she yearned being needed. A time when being needed by others had been like manna from heaven to her. And now she could sense that craving in Dawn. A piece of the slayer's life puzzle fell into place. She whispered, "Thanks Dawn." 

"Your welcome! Now go get changed!" And Dawn sprinted out the front door. 

Almost before the front door closed, Buffy felt her body weaken and she grabbed the banister for support. She felt like she was going to pass out. Eyes closed, she attempted to stave off the wave of dizziness that was threatening to engulf her. With a puff of breath The Slayer opened her eyes and let them go where they wanted. She could almost hear the burger calling to her: "Bite me Buffy!" She fought the urge for half a second before electing to give in to her desire... or demon... or whatever it was. 

Springing forward and taking the steps two at a time, she jumped onto the couch, settled down Indian style, and smiled one of the biggest happy smiles she'd ever smiled. 

In less than a minute her Doublemeat Medley burger had been inhaled and she felt like a pig. A satiated pig, but a pig nonetheless. A satiated, non-dizzy pig. 

"Mmmmm." Shoving the untouched bag of fries and the slowly dissolving chocolate shake onto the floor, Buffy settled back against the arm of the sofa, and closed her eyes; swiftly drifting into the first uninterrupted sleep she'd had in a week.

* * *

When Buffy woke up it was dark, inside and outside the Summers' home.

Turning her head on the sofa cushions she saw that there was a patch of light filtering into the living room from the dining room. Lifting her head a bit, she glimpsed Dawn sitting at the table, a pile of fat musty books surrounding her.

"Dawn?"

"Buffy, you're awake." Dawn looked up from the book in front of her and smiled with relief. 

"Yep, all rested. How long was I asleep? I mean, what time is it?"

"About six, and about 6:00."

"It's 6:00? I slept for six hours?"

Dawn nodded. "I tried to wake you up when I got home, but you threatened to stake me if I kept nudging you, so -- with you being the slayer and all -- I decided to let you sleep. 'Sides, sleep is good for fighting flu's and stuff. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. Right as rain." She scowled, realizing that she --

"... sounded like Spike" Dawn said with a giggle. "You look good. Better than before. Kind of all rested and bright. Maybe it was just a six hour flu, or maybe slayer's get really short cases of the flu!"

Buffy smiled, "This is the Hellmouth, I suppose weirder things have happened. Are those the books?"

"Uh huh. And I got a couple more that Anya recommended."

"Were you…were you able to be sneaky about it?"

"Like I said, I'm the sneakiest. I told her I was researching some stuff for one of my classes." 

"And she believed that?"

"She's Anya."

"Good point." Stretching languidly in her nest on the couch, Buffy slowly uncurled herself and headed toward the dining room. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope."

Buffy thought briefly about admonishing her sister, but caught herself just in time. With a shrug of her shoulders she offered, "How about I put on that soup we talked about and then we can nosh while we research."

Dawn beamed and added, "Can we have oyster crackers too?"

"What's soup without oyster crackers?"

As soon as she entered the kitchen Buffy saw the basket Spike had delivered earlier, still sitting in the middle of the island. It was staring at her. Taunting and daring her to open it. "Not gonna happen" she mumbled. "Not tonight anyway." Flicking her eyes around the kitchen she looked for an out of the way place to temporarily store the basket. 'Hiding place... Hiding place...' Not knowing what was in the basket, she definitely thought it would be safer to tuck it away from Dawn's young eyes. Spike could have put anything in there, from chocolate to hidden camera photos of the two of them kissing and... Well, the kissing would be bad enough for Dawn to find out about.

Making room in the cabinet beneath the sink, Buffy shoved the container into its recessess. 'No way Dawn will find it in there. Garbage duty and dish duty she avoids like the plague.' Stepping back from the sink she shut the cabinet door and set about finding and opening a can of soup. Pouring it into a pot and setting it to simmer, she headed back into the dining room.

* * *

Taking a seat across from Dawn, Buffy sighed with dismay at the size and number of books her sister had managed to drag home. Girding her mental faculties about her, Buffy reached out and pulled a book to her.

'Sueprestia Oricilus: A Study of Health Issues and Physical Properties of Natural and Unnatural Beings.'

'Oooh, fun! -- Not!' Before 'diving' into the book, Buffy looked at Dawn hopefully, "Did you find anything yet?"

"No. Well, actually, I just found the spell Willow used. Did you know she had to --"

"Stop! I don't want to know what's in the spell, just the side effects."

"Good decision," said Dawn as she looked back down at the spell with a shudder. "Remind me to stay on Willow's good side will you?"

"Dawn..."

"Okay, okay! If I see any warning labels, I'll yell."

Buffy flipped through the opening pages of the text until she reached the Table 0f Contents. She skimmed through the headings. 'Akasha... Banshee... Boogey men... Boogey women... The Gentlemen'. Shuddering, she cleared her throat and hummed a note or two, just to make certain she still could. 

Buffy made a mental note of the page number of the section titled 'Health Issues of the Common Human', but continued to make her way down the list until she hit 'Slayers, pg. 2038. She made a second mental note, and then continued to skim the chapter titles. 'Vampires'...3561. Underneath this chapter heading were the subtitles: Mating, Birth, Illness, and Death. She licked her lips and looked up at Dawn furtively; she was still concentrating intently upon the spell book in her lap. Good. 

Buffy reasoned with herself as she curved open the thin papers of the tome to page 3562 -- 'Vampire mating'. 'It's just a scientific question, I'm a slayer... I need to know all I can about Vampires. And well, Angel didn't do it, but Spike did. I just want to see how common it is, and maybe what it means.' She ran her finger down the page -- skimming sections that she knew she'd go back to in a few minutes -- until she found what she was looking for: 'The Vampire's Purr'.

TBC


End file.
